I love my cellphone or hate it, depending on the day and the circumstance. My iPhone 6 comes with a battery I must soon replace. It seems to operate on its own speed in its own time and I just can’t rely on it for accuracy any more. But, venturing into the Apple store is one of my least favorite undertakings, so I try to find other more creative ways to encourage my phone’s performance.

In a very short period of time, we have become dependent on ubiquitous gadgets and systems that can improve our lives, entertain us, or drive us crazy. I will admit a wistfulness for days without the all-consuming web of data, especially during moments when my bank’s website states “system down” just when I’m desperate to find out exactly how much is in my account. Or, how about those times being immobilized at an airport during a “system failure?”

I am a baby boomer, maybe what you consider the scourge of your practice. When I walk into your office, perhaps you see anemic Medicare reimbursement, knees that will soon need replacement and a don’t-tell-me-sonny-I’m-half-your age attitude.

But, I’d like to give you some advice, which my age permits. It’s in your best interest to treat me with the same respect and attention as you give your millennial patients, at least those who acknowledge that they won’t live forever.

I consider myself something of a retirement maven, having left my full-time career almost 15 years ago. On paper and in practice, it would appear that I have followed all advice in my preparation for a worry-free future. My financial advisor gave me the thumbs up, I mended any social rifts and I have maintained a grueling schedule of doctor’s appointments in the interest of remaining healthy. Over time, I have gradually eased into a “life is good” lifestyle, and I thank all those retirement gurus who helped me get here.

I am the grouchy lady standing behind the young father in Williams Sonoma telling his sticky-fingered five-year-old: “No touch, please.” The darling is pulling large pots off the shelf, squealing in delight as they clatter to the floor in all their copper finery. In my day, we didn’t beg our kids not to destroy merchandise in high-end stores. We tied their hands to their strollers, gave them the stink-eye, and hissed: “Don’t make me have to talk to you.” They didn’t have a chance. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

While we’re looking for potions and pomades to keep us looking young, what are we doing for our wrinkly insides? Is it possible that the bumps and bruises of our external selves are really reflections of what’s going on within?

Out with the old, in with the new. New year, new goals, perhaps. What does this look like to you? For each of us, it means different things, but what we all seem to have in common is a desire to make 2018 better than 2017. Exactly what is it we’d like to improve? Politics, the economy, relationships, jobs…the list is endless. There are so many opportunities for change, aren’t there?

Short of becoming a mature version of the fed-up ladies in A Bad Mom’s Christmas or even a female Grinch, there are many ways a geezer goddess can survive the holidays. Years of brainwashing have set us up to be exhausted and frazzled when December 25 finally arrives. There is another way.

My gift to geezer goddesses everywhere is my Christmas list, my wish for you and the end of the scourge of unrealistic expectations.